Windows and Doors
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: The cat kept her eyes fixed on the kitchen window of Number Four, as if she was waiting for something to happen. (Nothing did, of course. Nothing ever really happened on Privet Drive.) /30 invasions of privacy in 750 words or fewer.
1. The Cat

**The Cat**

* * *

The cat came around Privet Drive quite often.

Nobody ordered her to be there, but she was there all the same, eyes fixed on the kitchen window of Number Four, as if she was waiting for something to happen.

(Nothing did, of course. Nothing ever really happened on Privet Drive.)

But day after day the cat marched down that street and inspected that house, and when people walked past her she didn't skirt away like most cats, she just stared at them calmly until they moved on.

It went on that way for years, with the cat turning up every few days. Petunia Dursley saw her once when she was doing the breakfast dishes, and she turned white and ran to the door, because she'd seen that cat before, she knew it was more than just an animal, she knew it was one of _them_.

She opened the door a crack. "Shoo," she hissed, but the cat didn't move. She was perched up on a fence, glossy eyes staring into the kitchen, picking up every move of the two four-year-old boys playing together on the floor.

One had a scar on his forehead, and the sight of it made the cat's nose twitch.

Petunia looked over her shoulder and took a step toward the cat. "What do you want with us? Did _he _send you? We haven't done anything wrong, I'm as good as a mother to him."

The cat slowly turned her head to face her.

"You want to see him?" Petunia asked sharply. "You want to inspect him? Go ahead."

The cat let her eyelids drop in a slow blink.

Petunia looked like she couldn't decide whether to run inside and lock the door or grab the cat and strangle her. In the end she turned smartly on her heel and retreated into the house. "Dudley," she called, moving back into the kitchen, and the cat heard it all through the open window. "Dudley, go upstairs. Now."

Dudley heaved himself to his feet and waddled toward the staircase. The other boy jumped up and made to follow him, but Petunia grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door. "Come with me for a moment, Harry," she said, and the boy followed her back to the front door and out onto the steps. "There," Petunia said, presenting him to the cat. "There, he's _fine_."

The cat leaped down from her perch and approached the boy slowly. Her eyes never left his scar.

"You want him?" Petunia gave Harry a little shove toward the cat. "You want to take him away? That's fine with me. We never asked for this!"

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry's eyes were wide behind his round glasses. "Are you talking to the cat?"

Petunia was trembling all over. "Don't hurt my family," she said. "Do you understand me? Don't come near us anymore. Tell your _headmaster_ the boy is _fine._"

The cat blinked and slowly cocked her head to one side. In the next house over, Mrs. Figg was peeping out from behind her curtains, eyebrows raised.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said gently, "I don't think the cat can understand you."

Petunia was bone-white. "I'll keep him if I have to, like I promised I would," she said. "But I won't tolerate _spies_."

The curtain twitched, and Mrs. Figg disappeared.

"I think it's just a cat," Harry said. "Aunt Petunia, it's hot out here, can I go back in with - ?"

"Yes, yes, go, fine," Petunia snapped, and Harry, looking confused, opened the door and went back into the house.

"Petunia!" It was Mrs. Figg, toddling down her walkway and waving an empty measuring cup in the air. "Petunia, darling, I'm so glad I caught you. I was baking a cake, and clumsy me, I ran out of sugar! Do you think I could borrow a cup?"

Petunia gave the cat one last glare. "Yes, Arabella, of course. Do come in." She went inside, leaving the door open behind her for her neighbor.

Mrs. Figg knelt down in front of the cat. "Couldn't stay away, eh?" she muttered, scratching her behind the ears. "I know the feeling." She straightened up. "Don't worry, I'm watching the house. I check in with Dumbledore once a month. They're strict on him, but he's not being abused." She moved inside the house. "You can go back to the castle. I have everything under control."

The cat dropped one eyelid in a slow wink, and Mrs. Figg shut the door.

* * *

_[Character Collection Competition: Minerva McGonagall (Marauder's Era)]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Minerva McGonagall]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Professor McGonagall]_

_[Forbidden Words Challenge: "McGonagall"]_


	2. The Conductor

**The Conductor**

* * *

As soon as the cat was out of sight of the house, she leaned back onto her read paws and transformed into a woman. She took a moment to straighten her glasses before setting off briskly down the street. Dusk had fallen over Privet Drive; through the windows she could see the silhouettes of families sitting down for dinner in their yellow-lit dining rooms, and for a moment, she was flooded with a deep longing for the Scottish Highlands.

But there was no time for memories now, and she pushed the longing aside and threw her arm out into the street.

The Knight Bus screeched to a halt just before it ran her over.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," a small blond boy said. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard."

"To Hogsmeade, please, Mr. Shunpike," she said, stepping on board.

The boy, who couldn't have been older than eleven, grinned up at her. "You always call me mister," he said with a gap-toothed grin.

She returned with a tight-lipped smile of her own. "Well, why shouldn't I? You're a professional, are you not?"

He shrugged and looked down at his feet. "I s'pose."

"Will you be at Hogwarts in the fall?" she asked, taking a seat. The bus shot forward, but she kept her balance.

The boy called Shunpike went sliding across the floor, but he picked himself up and took the seat next to hers. "I dunno," he said, picking at the hem of his ragged shirt. "Uncle Ernie wants me to stay on as the conductor here."

"That's right," Ernie called from the driver's seat. "Don't you go filling Stanley's head with this education nonsense, Professor McGonagall. I went to Hogwarts and look where I am now. Driving the Knight Bus. Suffered through seven years of Transfiguration to do a job that doesn't need magic at all." He flashed her a grin in the rearview.

"If I recall, Mr. Prang, you only turned up to Transfiguration lessons about once a week," she said, but she was smiling, too. "I'm sure Mr. Shunpike would focus more on his studies than you ever did."

"I would," Stan said. "I'd do all the homework. I'd learn all the spells."

"That's what they all say." Ernie pulled the Knight Bus over to pick up another passenger.

Stan leaped up and took his place at the door. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard."

"Hogsmeade," said the wizard climbing aboard.

"We've got someone else going to Hogsmeade," Stan said brightly as the bus took off again. McGonagall caught the wizard's eye; they recognized each other at the same time, and he lowered his eyes and moved to the upper deck of the bus. "Who was that?" Stan asked. "Why does he want to be alone? Didn't he want to sit with you?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Just an old acquaintance. He works in Hogsmeade. Owns a pub. We used to work together."

"At Hogwarts?" Stan was bouncing in his seat. "Is he a professor, too?"

She looked out the window. "No."

"Good," Ernie said gruffly. "We don't need _two _people recruiting the boy at the same time." They lurched to a halt. "Hogsmeade," he said. "I suppose we'll see you again soon, Professor McGonagall?" he added as she stepped onto the cobblestone streets.

She nodded curtly. "I suppose."

The wizard stepped off after her, still refusing to make eye contact.

"Goodbye, Mr. Shunpike," McGonagall said. The young conductor offered her a salute, and the Knight Bus zoomed away. "And goodnight, Aberforth," she said to the man beside her.

He drew breath to reply, but she was already walking away toward the castle.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Alone]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Minerva McGonagall (Order of the Phoenix)]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Hogsmeade]_

_[100 Prompts: sliding; bouncing]_


	3. The Contradictor

**The Contradictor**

* * *

Aberforth Dumbledore trudged back to the Hog's Head with a scowl on his face. His pub was dirty, as usual, but at least it was empty, at least it would give him a quiet space to _think_. It had been necessary to go to Diagon Alley, but _Merlin_, it was crowded as hell there; the noise, combined with the summer heat, gave him headaches.

With an over-the-shoulder flick of the wand, he locked the front door while he walked, rucksack in tow, into his back office. As he began to brew a potion for dreamless sleep - it was the only thing that got him to sleep at all, these days - he sent a wave at the portrait of his sister. "Have a good day, did you?" he asked her, unloading various ingredients from his rucksack.

(Ariana didn't say anything. She never did.)

"Diagon Alley was terrible, as usual," he told her. The water in his cauldron had come to a nice simmer; he began to chop caterpillars against the cutting board he also used to prepare sandwiches. "Too many people. Especially in Gringotts. I dunno what it is about the summer holidays. Everyone's determined to empty their bank accounts, apparently." He scraped the caterpillar guts into the water. "There was a line at the apothecary _out the door_." With a _crunch_, he started to grind up several dried beetles. "I made sure to stock up on ingredients. I shouldn't have to go back for at least six months." The beetles fell into the cauldron.

"Saw Minerva on my way back," Aberforth continued. Ariana was still listening politely. "Didn't speak to her, though. I didn't know what to say. I didn't - what do you say to someone from the old days, you know?" He dropped in a few ashwinder eggs. _Plop, plop, plop. _"It was a different time. We were united back then, against You-Know-Who. Turns out, none of us at the Order had very much in common other than our enemy."

There was a pounding on the front door. "Ab?" a muffled voice called. "Abbie, you here?"

Aberforth narrowed his eyes. "I'll be right back," he told his sister, heading for the front door. "Dung," he called, peering through the peephole. "I thought I told you not to come back here."

"You did!" Mundungus Fletched had his eye pressed up against the tiny window. "But I had some news. Lemme in!"

Aberforth sighed as he unlocked the door. "You can't come in," he said quickly as Mundungus started to step inside. "You can tell me your news from right there."

Mundungus twisted his hands together. "Walburga's dead."

"Walburga?" Aberforth repeated blankly.

"Black. Sirius' mum. I'm on my way to Azkaban to tell him. I thought maybe you'd like to join me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Old time's sake. Nobody else from Order can make it. Moody's out of the country, Albus can't leave the school, McGonagall's dealing with her own loss - "

"What loss?"

Mundungus blinked. "You didn't hear? Elphinstone passed away last month."

"Her husband?"

"Yes, her husband." He gave Aberforth a strange look. "Don't act like you don't remember the old days. They weren't that long ago."

"There must be other people who could go with you."

Mundungus shook his head. "Remus Lupin's mother is ill, he can't leave the house. Severus wants nothing to do with Sirius. Diggle is tied up at the Ministry, there's a hearing, it's expected to go on for weeks. Everyone else is dead." He shrugged. "If you don't want to come, I'll go alone."

Aberforth exhaled. "I don't want to come. Goodbye, Dung. Please don't come back."

When Aberforth got back to his potion, it had boiled over, spewing caterpillar guts all over the floor. He muttered a curse. Ariana watched him with a sorrowful look on her face. "The old days are over," he said to her - or maybe to himself - as he cleaned up the floor. "That's why they're the _old days. _We can't get them back. We have to move on." He glanced up at the portrait of his long-dead sister. "It's just not healthy to live in the past."

Ariana didn't say anything.

(She never did.)

* * *

_[Forbidden Words: "and"]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Dreamless Sleep]_

___[Fiddler on the Rood Character Challenge: Lazar Wolf - write about any Dumbledore except Albus]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Diagon Alley]_


	4. The Crook

**The Crook**

* * *

Mundungus Fletcher was no stranger to Azkaban. He'd been to the prison ten times in his life - once to visit his dad, twice to visit Sirius Black, and seven times as a prisoner himself. He'd never been locked up more than a month or two.

(It was still hard to face the dementors.)

Because they had a way of reaching into the innermost secrets of his mind, of finding his deepest insecurities and darkest regrets, of forcing him to remember the things he'd worked his entire life to forget. They knew exactly how to break a man: by reminding him why he was worthless.

"Here to visit Sirius Black," he told the wizard on guard duty. "I've got news for him."

The guard, who was himself guarded by a large patronus in the form of a jaguar, leaned against the stone wall and looked Mundungus up and down. "Fletcher," he said through clenched teeth. "What brings you back here? You homesick?"

Mundungus shook his head. "Sirius Black," he repeated, and he could already feel the confidence draining out of him, could already feel the coldness settling in. . . .

"Black's in cell 1364," the guard said. "I can find a guard to show you the way."

"Human guard?" Mundungus asked.

The guard grinned. "Not exactly."

Mundungus shuddered. "I'll go by myself, thanks," he said. "I know the way."

"You do, don't you," the guard called after him as he started down the dimly lit corridor. "I forgot, Dung. You're intimately familiar with these cells."

Mundungus rolled his eyes and kept walking. He had to squint to make out the cell numbers. 1013 . . . 1124 . . . 1258 . . . A few of the convicts shouted at him when he walked by . . . some of them were moaning . . . some of them were on the ground, screaming . . . 1312 . . . 1345 . . .

Cell 1364 was near the end of the long hallway. "Sirius?" Mundungus said, putting his face up against the bars. "You in here?"

Sirius' face poked out of the darkness. "I'm here," he said raggedly. "How've you been, Dung?"

"Fine. And you?"

Sirius looked around himself and choked out a laugh. "I've been better, actually." He pushed a hand through his hair, stringy and greasy from years of neglect. "You here to bust me out?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. Maybe next time." And he didn't know whether he was joking or not, because Mundungus couldn't decide whether he thought Sirius was innocent or guilty. "I just came with some news."

"Happy news, I hope."

"Oh, brilliant news. Your mum's dead."

Sirius blinked. "My mum's dead?"

"Your mum's dead."

Sirius threw back his head and began to laugh again. "About bloody time," he said, sinking to the floor of his cell. "That old hag can rot in hell. She deserves nothing less. I'm only sorry I won't be able to spit on her grave."

Mundungus grinned. "I'll be sure to take care of that for you," he said, and then he began to shiver violently. "I've got to get out of here," he muttered. "Before the dementors send me into a depression. But it was good to see you, Sirius."

Sirius gave him a lazy wave. "Don't be a stranger," he said sarcastically. "And don't loot my house, either. I see that glimmer in your eye."

Mundungus chuckled. "Try and stop me. Oh, wait, you're stuck in a cell like a guilty dog."

Sirius' grin faded, and he asked, completely seriously, "Do you think I'm guilty, Dung?"

Mundungus tilted his head very slightly. "Honestly? I'm not sure."

The man in the cell sighed. "That's better than the rest of the world, I suppose."

Mundungus gave him a gruff nod. "Are you? Guilty, I mean?"

Sirius nodded. "It's my fault James and Lily died," he said. "I didn't kill them, but it's still my fault."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't pull the trigger, Dung. But I loaded the gun."

"What about Pettigrew?"

Sirius laughed again, and it sounded broken. "Pettigrew can rot in hell right along with my mum."

"But did you kill him?"

"No. I didn't. And I'll never forgive myself for that."

And Mundungus walked out of Azkaban wondering what on Earth _that _could mean.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Azkaban]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Mundungus Fletcher (Order of the Phoenix)]_

_[Fiddler on the Roof Character Challenge: Nahum - write about Mundungus Fletcher]_


	5. The Convict

**The Convict**

* * *

To pass the time in Azkaban, Sirius had taken up various muggle pastimes.

Sometimes he did the crossword in the newspaper. Sometimes he made puppets with his hands and cast shadows against the dingy walls. Once he tried to create a pair of socks by interlocking loops of yarn on long, plastic needles, but he was no good at it, and the guards took it all away when they realized the needles could be used as weapons.

But his favorite thing to do, Sirius had come to realize, was talk to the woman in the next cell over.

"How are you this evening, Bellatrix?" he asked lazily.

He heard her heave a sigh. "Again, Sirius?"

"Always."

Bellatrix was the only other person in this place that wasn't insane or completely hopeless. Maybe it was because they were Blacks, and darkness was part of their natures, so the darkness of Azkaban was a comfort rather than a terror. Maybe it was because they both had faith they'd be out of here soon - he believed the world would discover he was innocent, and she believed Voldemort was still out there somewhere. Either way, Bellatrix was the only one here who could carry on rational conversation, so Sirius made the best of what he had.

"I'm cold," she said. "That's how I am this evening. And you?"

"Cold, as well."

"Cissy's coming for her monthly visit in a few days. I'll ask the guards to remind her to bring blankets."

"Blankets? Plural?"

Bellatrix laughed softly. "All for me, of course."

"What, you won't share?"

"With you? Never. You've got those long muggle needles, make one yourself."

"I can't," he said gloomily. "They took them away from me."

He heard his cousin chuckle. "So Aunt Walburga's dead?"

"You heard Mundungus, I take it."

"That's a pity."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "It's a pity she didn't go years ago."

"You disgust me."

"What? Why?"

"Sirius. Did you really not love your own _mother_?"

"My own mother didn't love me." He began to shiver. The dementors were making their nightly rounds. "Are you sure you won't share one of those blankets with me?"

"Positive."

Silence settled in between them for awhile. A dementor leaned up against the door of Sirius' cell and reached through the bars, groping for the body huddled up against the back wall, and for a moment everything was _JamesJamesJames_.

"I didn't kill him," he whispered over and over. "It wasn't me. I'm innocent."

"I know you are," Bellatrix's voice floated back to him. "Isn't it funny, how I know you are?"

Sirius gritted his teeth. The dementor glided away.

"I'm not innocent," she continued. "Not at all. I deserve to be here. But not you. And I'm the only one who knows it."

"Pettigrew knows it," Sirius growled. James was still echoing in his mind.

"Pettigrew's dead."

"Voldemort knows it."

"The Dark Lord knows everything. You should take the Mark, Sirius. Join us."

"We've been over this, Bella."

"You only left our family in the first place for James Potter. Well, James Potter is dead. There's no reason to stay so loyal to someone who's gone."

"Funny," Sirius said, and he was grinning. "I could say the same thing about you and your Dark Lord."

"He's not gone."

It was an old argument, one that went around in circles forever, so he changed the subject. "Do you remember when we were kids?"

"Like when?"

"When we used to run around at your house, and I let Cissy ride around on my back, and Andromeda chased after us because she was worried Cissy would fall and hurt herself?"

"And I was the one egging you on," Bella said fondly.

"You taught me my first spell, you know," he said. "Granted, it was the cruciatus curse, but it was still a spell."

She laughed. "You were my favorite cousin," she said softly. "I dunno if I ever told you that. But you were."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm touched, Bella."

"You're the only one who stood up to me. It was quite easy to get a rise out of you. I liked the attention, I think. I didn't get much of that at home."

"Glad I could help."

"I actually - I had a bit of a crush on you. When we were young, I mean."

"That's both flattering and disgusting."

"I know, I know." She sighed. "Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"You know as soon as we're out of here, this - this truce, or whatever you want to call it, it's going to be over."

"Yeah, I know."

"And we'll go back to being on opposite sides of this war."

"I know, Bella."

A short silence, and then: "I'll ask Cissy to bring you an extra blanket."

"Thank you, Bella."

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Bellatrix Lestrange]_

_[Female Character Challenge: Jane Eyre - write about relatives with a rivalry]_

_[Relationship Bingo Board: B5 - cousincest]_

_[Forbidden Word Competition: "knitting"]_


	6. The Criminal

**The Criminal**

* * *

Bellatrix always fell asleep after her cousin.

Because Sirius was innocent, they both knew it, and just because he _felt _guilty didn't mean he actually _was _guilty.

But she, Bella, was the farthest thing from innocent, and no matter how justified she felt, no matter how okay she pretended to be, her victims haunted her in her dreams.

It always started with Cissy. They were young again - Cissy couldn't have been more than five - and she, Bellatrix, was teasing her about something; she, Bellatrix, was shoving her to the ground; she, Bellatrix, was _hurting her_, and Narcissa wasn't crying, but she was pale white and her eyes were wide and Bellatrix wanted to stop but she couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, she needed to hurt people like she needed to breathe, and she used to be ashamed of that bloodthirsty part of her, but now she _embraced _it, now she _loved _it, and Cissy's screams were addictive, they tasted like ecstasy and honey and _she, Bellatrix, was a dementor, feeding on the terror in her sister's fragile little body, and it was so, so good -_

And then she fell into a different dream, this time about a boy named Connor, and he was a mudblood, a stupid little mudblood that had somehow wound up in _Slytherin_, and she couldn't have that, now, could she? They were alone in the cellar of the Malfoy Manor - Lucius had invited all the Slytherins in their year to come around for Christmas - and he was whimpering and begging but she didn't _care_, she _liked _watching him snivel, she wanted to see him _bleed_. And someone must have heard it upstairs - someone must have known exactly what she was doing - but nobody came, and Bellatrix swooped down to inhale the mudblood's terror, because _she was a dementor again, she _belonged _in Azkaban - behind the bars or outside of them, it made no difference, because she could feel all their pain either way, and it was so, so good -_

And then it was the Longbottoms, the fat, stupid, ugly Longbottoms, and yes, they were brave, and yes, they were kind, but that didn't matter, all she, Bellatrix, wanted was to watch them die in _agony_, because the truth was, deep down inside herself, she was in agony, too, and if somebody else hurt more than she did, it was a victory, wasn't it? And wasn't it true that as long as she was the most ferocious beast in the world, there was no reason to be afraid of the dark?

"Bellatrix," a guard said, and she woke from her dream with a ragged gasp.

"What?" she snapped.

"Come on, be nice to the poor man," Sirius' voice floated out of the cell next to hers. "He doesn't want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to him."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Your sister is here to see you," the guard said. Narcissa Malfoy was standing just behind him, her lips pressed together, her face white. "She brought some blankets."

"One of those is for me," Sirius called. Narcissa passed one between the bars on his door. "Thanks, Cissy."

"I'll leave you two alone, then," the guard said stiffly. "If you need anything, Mrs. Malfoy, just give a shout."

Narcissa took a deep breath and turned to face her sister. "Hello, Bella."

She looked terrified, like a child, and Bellatrix wondered what terrible traumas the dementors were making her remember.

(A perverted spark of excitement jumped within her breast.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Mudblood]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Bellatrix Black (Marauder's Era); Word Prompt: Dreaming]_

_[Fiddler on the Roof Character Challenge: __Fruma-Sarah - write about a dream.__]_

_[Female Challenge: Anne Shirley - write about a strange and vivid dream]_


	7. The Calm One

**The Calm One**

* * *

"Hello, Bella," Narcissa whispered, standing far enough away from the cell that she didn't have to touch the bars. Terrible memories flooded her mind, as they always did when she came to Azkaban: memories of a five-year-old Narcissa with her sister Bella holding her head underwater, a seven-year-old Narcissa with her sister Bella forcing her face against a hot stove, a nine-year-old Narcissa writhing under her sister Bella's cruciatus curse -

"Cissy," Bellatrix spat through yellow teeth. "I missed you. Come closer, so I can see you."

Narcissa took a tiny step forward.

"Oh, go on, Cissy," Sirius drawled from the next cell over. "She isn't going to bite you. Her head wouldn't fit through the bars. It's too full of her own ego."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Where's Draco?"

"I - I didn't bring him."

"Good thing, too," Sirius remarked. "Poor kid would be scared out of his mind."

"Shut _up_, Sirius."

"I can talk to her if I want," Sirius said. "Cissy's my family, too."

"Oh, _now _you care about family?" Bellatrix snapped. Narcissa took a step away from the door. "If I remember correctly, Sirius, you wanted nothing to do with your family earlier!"

"Both of you," Narcissa said, "be quiet. No, Bellatrix, I didn't bring Draco. I thought he might be frightened."

"Hah," Sirius said loudly.

"Cissy, will you please put a silencing charm on him?"

Narcissa smiled faintly. "They took my wand at the front. I can't do anything to him."

"_Hah!_"

(She couldn't admit it, not to anyone, but Narcissa loved watching Sirius get the best of Bellarix.)

"When I get out of here, you're the first to die, Black," Bellatrix growled.

"You and what army, eh?"

"The Death Eaters."

"What Death Eaters? They're all either dead or stuck in Azkaban with you!"

"At least I didn't bet everything on the bloody Potters!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Bella, the bloody Potters _won._"

A wave of coldness washed through Narcissa's body, and she looked up to see two dementors gliding toward her. "Well," she said, backing down the hallway, "I hate to break up this little family reunion, but it's time for me to go. I'll see you next month, Bella."

"Bye, Cissy!" Sirius called, sticking his hand through the bars to wave.

"Cissy, _wait!_" cried her sister, but Narcissa was already out the door and Apparating away.

* * *

"Well?" Lucius asked when she walked into the Malfoy Manor. "How was she?"

"Fine." Narcissa still had goosebumps all over her arms. "Bickering with Sirius Black, as usual."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Bickering?"

"It's the most violent they can possibly get with each other." Narcissa ran her hands over her arms to warm them up. "I'm going to have Dobby draw a hot bath."

"A hot bath?" Lucius repeated. "You realize it's the middle of July and we're drowning in heat, don't you?"

Narcissa was already walking away. "Azkaban is cold."

"Darling, wait."

She stopped.

"Come back."

She turned.

"I know you're angry." He moved to her side and wrapped her in a hug. She let him hold her for a moment before pulling away. "I'm _sorry_, Narcissa."

"Sorry?" _Stay calm_, her mother's voice was whispering in the back of her mind. _Don't lose control of yourself. _"You should be sorry."

"I _am_, so just forgive me and let's move past this."

Narcissa took a deep breath. "I do."

"Good." He pecked her lips and let her go upstairs for her bath.

* * *

Narcissa leaned back in the bathtub and counted the ripples each tear made as it splashed into the steaming water. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Count to ten, Narcissa. Hold it in, take a breath, count to ten. You're fine. No tears. Don't be weak._

But it wasn't easy.

_"_You know Bellatrix used to _torture _me as a child," Narcissa whispered to the empty bathroom. "You know she abused me. You _know_, Lucius, I've _told _you -and you make me visit her anyway, you make me relive _all of it _every month, because you're under the delusion that the Dark Lord will return, and you think if we stay on Bella's good side, we'll be welcomed back with open - "

"Mummy!" Draco cried, rushing into the bathroom. "Mummy, I missed you."

Narcissa reached out to stroke his blonde hair. "I missed you, too, darling," she said, and for his sake, she held back the rest of her tears.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Malfoy Manor]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Narcissa (Marauder's Era); Location Prompt: Malfoy Manor]_

_[Relationship Bingo Board Challenge: A2 - Narcissa]_

_[Female Character Challenge: Anna Karenina - write about Narcissa Malfoy]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Malfoy Manor]_


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